From holy flame thy frame was wrought
Through war cry praise thy name was brought
By scholars taught and by fighters cheered
In wooden gaze thy soul revered
Thus beneath the blaze thy name was seared

Of soil born
By sweet land nourished
In corpse cremation
Thy strength hath flourished

Volcanic is thy raging force
Titanic is thy fullest span
Crash forth through giant’s iron cage
Gorge on the feeble corpse of man

At silent light of quiet dawn
Near lake of waters chilled
The wine is slowly poured
The eight skulls are filled

With violent blast of hunter’s horn
Thy food shall be roped and bound
Thy chosen daughter shall raise an ax
Inflict the righteous glorious pain

Once thy food is severed
Thy blessing shall flow fast from its chunks
Thy daughter shall drink it quick  
She shall not spill a single drop

The wine of the eight skulls shall sweeten
With presence of thy oaken scent
Divine wrath shall envelop all
After thy jaws are fully fed